


Through the Binoculars

by ninimusic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Voyeurism, maladaptive daydreaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9848684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninimusic/pseuds/ninimusic
Summary: They call her The Creepy Neighbour.or: Hitoka studies the world from her living room window, binoculars in hand. A gay couple moves in across the street and she witnesses love like she's never seen it before, until everything comes crashing down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Haikyuu!! fanfiction, but also the first completed story I have written in a long time. Yay!
> 
> It was inspired by this beautiful song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1B1iAJj-fE .
> 
> English isn't my first language, but I think it doesn't show too much in my writing (hopefully). Feel free to point out any mistakes and let me know f you liked it by commenting or leaving kudos!

* * *

 

Hitoka takes a deep breath before opening her apartment door. Today doesn’t feel like a good day. As soon as she steps into the corridor, she presses her back against the wall and closes her eyes. The door isn’t even closed yet. She’ll try to at least make it out of the building before giving up.

She waits until her heartbeat evens out before she makes it down the stairs and onto the street. The familiarity of the scenery helps to calm her nerves down. She can’t help thinking that her life is a bit pathetic. She’s in her mid-twenties; she should be having fun, meet people, and see the world. Instead, she lives inside like a hermit, designing websites. When she does leave the house, it’s at the same time of day, following the same itinerary, seeing the same people, saying the same things. Most of the time, she comes home crying and out of breath. She feels shameful pride when she doesn’t.

Some call it _agoraphobia_. She calls it _misery_.

She turns her head to the right, expecting to see the mail-delivery truck. It isn’t there. She checks her watch. _Damn_ , she must have stayed in the hallway longer than she thought.

Today isn’t a good day, indeed.

She starts walking faster. What if her usual cashier isn’t at the grocery store anymore? What if the new cashier asks her a question? They probably will. _What method of payment, miss?_ She always pays by card, but they won’t know that. What if she forgets? What if she has a panic attack and blocks the line? People will get angry. They will probably yell. She checks her watch again. She’s _so_ incredibly late.

She turns around to go home. She’ll try again tomorrow. She has leftovers anyway.

She breaks into a run, tears streaming down her cheeks. She fails to ignore people staring at her, _judging_. Her mother says Sendai is a busy city, where no one has time to dwell too much on a crying girl running on the sidewalk. Hitoka has a hard time believing her.

_Misery._

 

* * *

 

She spends thirty minutes sitting on the floor, her back to the door. When she finally stops shaking, she stands up, takes off her shoes, and goes to the kitchen to drink a large glass of water. _Not a good day_ was starting to feel like an understatement.

She makes her way to the window. She passes in front of her computer and has a brief thought for her latest client. It could wait. She throws open the curtains and picks up her binoculars. They were a gift from her mother.

“You can go to the park, watch the birds!” she had said. “It’s just to get you out of the house.”

She aims them at the apartment block across the street.

 _The creepy neighbour_ , they call her. She would say _lonely_ is more fitting.

 

* * *

 

Hitoka is having a good week. She hasn’t come home running even once. Sometimes her hands were shaking a little, or a couple of tears were threatening to fall, but she was otherwise truly proud of her self-control. As a reward, she is sipping sake, her binoculars in hand.

There’s a moving van across the street that piques her interest. The apartment directly in front of hers has been unoccupied for a month now. A single mother and her toddler used to live there. She felt even lonelier after they left. Watching the little girl would put a smile on her face when she was having a bad day.

The new neighbours are two young men. One is a tall blond, his glasses giving him a serious look. The other is slightly shorter, a cowlick standing proudly on top of his head. He is smiling widely — a great contrast from the other boy— his freckled nose crinkling.

She cocks her head, curious. A strand of blond hair falls into her eyes. She blows it away. Maybe they are fresh out of college? It is true that living in Sendai isn’t cheap if you don’t have a steady job yet. Getting a roommate isn’t a bad idea, she’ll give them that. She takes a look around the empty room. Yes, not a bad idea.

She looks through her binoculars again. The smiling boy elbows his roommate jokingly. The blond scoffs in response, a barely-there smile on his lips. She decides those two are probably good friends.

Later that night, the dancing shadows tell her otherwise.

 

* * *

 

As far as everyone is concerned, Yamaguchi Tadashi and Tsukishima Kei are best friends. The two boys met back in Elementary school. They didn’t become friends instantaneously; at first, it was just Tadashi who followed the taller boy around because _Tsukki is just so cool_. The latter eventually accepted the offered friendship because, after all, nobody else volunteered (and other reasons his younger self denied profusely to everyone who didn’t ask). By the time Middle school rolled around, they were officially best friends, much to Yamaguchi’s ( _and Tsukishima’s_ ) delight. Tadashi practically took residence at the Tsukishima household during his early teen years. It’s that fact that brought the freckled brunet to The Great Revelation. It happened when he realised he visited his best friend less to spend time with him and more to ogle at his Greek god of a brother.

There was no denying it.

Yamaguchi Tadashi was thirteen years old when he found out he was gay.

(Even to this day, he still thinks Tsukishima Akiteru is a very good first crush choice as well as premium sexual awakening material.)

(Kei is very much not aware of that and never will be.)

The two teenagers started dating at some point during High school. There was no awkward pinning and shy confessions. It happened against their will, really. It was just that, apparently, best friends don’t kiss and cuddle in bed, or so they heard. So, dating they were.

(This led Kei to believe he was the precursor of The Great Revelation. Let the guy dream, will you.)

 Through a common and unspoken agreement, they never let anyone know of that last development. Because even though love blinds, it doesn’t make you stupid. Because they know how people could be mean, as tiny Yamaguchi learned way too early. Because they heard the rumors and rude comments about _the gays of Aoba Johsai_ around school. Because they saw how The Grand King quit volleyball in college “due to his bad knee”, only to furiously play with the neighbourhood team. Because Iwaizumi managed to make the National team anyway and became a very proud bench warmer, until a couple of punches in the face told him he wasn’t welcome.

But none of that matters now that they have their own little love nest, Tadashi thinks as he looks out the window (that’s in _their bedroom_ in which they are _sharing a bed_ , his mind screams). Tsukki comes behind him and closes the curtains, shielding them from the outside world. His slowly takes off his partner’s shirt and kisses the back of his neck. Tadashi turns around and stands on tiptoes to kiss the other man.

They have known each other for fifteen years already. He couldn’t wait for the many more to come.

After one last glance over his shoulder to the window, he loses himself to the man he loves.

It’s not like anyone is watching their dancing silhouettes through the curtains, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Secret love affairs are often seen as wrong, adultery being the first thing that comes to mind. What Hitoka sees across the street is the absolute opposite. It’s the most genuine love there is. It exists without anyone’s approval. It isn’t anyone’s to judge.

It’s beautiful and Yachi cannot look away.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take very long for Hitoka to learn that the secret lovers are very passionate about their feelings, _every night_ , sometimes until the wee hours of the morning.

They perform intricate recitals in front of their bedroom window. They don’t need music to captivate their audience, for their bodies paint beautiful portraits on their own.

Their waltz is slow and delicate. It’s all soft pinks and light blues. White, even. It’s the purest of sins. With half-lidded eyes, their mouths seek each other, breathing hard.

They can waltz for hours on end, like they can never get enough.

Their tango is all deep reds, strong oranges and bright yellows. There are flecks of black, too, an all-consuming passion of nails and teeth. It’s fast and fierce, powerful but short.

Their tango is violent like fire and leaves them burnt and spent, like they cannot take any more of it.

Sometimes the performance is a puppet show; shadows and silhouettes behind thin fabric.

More often than not, the drapes are wide open. There is no time to think of such details when all you have on your mind is the skin in front of you.

The light is always on.

 

* * *

 

There is the shadow of a body sitting on the windowsill, hair standing in every direction. She cannot make out the constellations marking its back, but she has them memorised anyway. A dark figure leans over the first man, a hand making its way behind the curtains, directly on the glass for support. The curtains are all crunched up. The window is shaking. The glass is fogging up.

_Mesmerizing._

She holds the binoculars with two hands, than only one, letting herself drown in unknown pleasures.

 

* * *

 

As time goes by, Hitoka spends less and less time watching them. She trades the window for the comfort of her own bed. It might seem like she’s just staring at the ceiling for hours on end, but the truth is, she’s living more than ever before.

Lying in the dark, she is living a life where she can go as she pleases without any anxiety. This newfound freedom makes her feel high, sometimes. Tears roll down her cheeks as she laughs like a madman. She feels warm inside her chest and grips the sheets, looking for an anchor as she is floating away.

She knows none of it is real. She doesn’t care one bit.

She is not alone in her fantasy. There is a mystery person there, someone without a name or face. It’s only a blurry figure with arms that envelop her and make her feel safe. They make this imaginary world full of love and lips and skin and hands and pleasure.

Life has never been better.

 

* * *

 

Tadashi risks a glance at the alarm clock. It’s getting late, but he can’t find it in him to move away from the warm body behind him. “We should get up,” he says anyway, without any real conviction.

“No,” his lover responds stubbornly, hugging his waist tighter. Tadashi smiles and closes his eyes. Lazy mornings in bed are the best, especially when Tsukki is all groggy and cute.

The two stay quiet for several minutes after that, silently enjoying each other’s company. Tadashi finally decides to turn around to face the other man (which proves to be harder than intended, seeing as Tsukki is holding him very tightly).

“I wanted to talk to you about something…” he starts, worry surely clear on his face (but it’s not like Kei has bothered opening his eyes, so it’s all good).

“I already said no to the matching tattoos.”

“I know! It’s about something else.” Understanding the blonde wouldn’t add anything, Tadashi takes it upon himself to continue. “Do you — I mean…“ He clears his throat and starts over. “I want to tell people.” There, he said it.

“Tell _whom_ about _what_. I don’t feel like reading your mind. I want to _cuddle_.”

“I want to come out. I want to tell people about us.” He feels Tsukishima freeze, but it only lasts a heartbeat. He stays silent and acts like nothing just happened. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

“If I disagree, you’ll get upset and I don’t want that.”

“So you think ignoring me is better?” He tries to detangle himself, but the arms around him hold on even tighter. “Look at me, at least!” He tries to sit once more, in vain. “GET OFF ME!”

He didn’t mean to scream like that, but he is so _frustrated_. Their morning was perfect and he ruined it. He suddenly feels like crying.

Kei lets go at last. He looks around the bedside table for his glasses and they both sit on the bed. Tadashi is hugging his knees to his chest. The distance between them feels like kilometers compared to the closeness from a moment ago. Tsukki, even with his eyes open and his glasses on, still won’t look at him.

“We already had this discussion,” the blonde mumbles to the comforter.

“It was years ago.”

Tsukishima moves to get up, but Tadashi grips his wrist. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“Maybe just our families?” He’s just being hopeful. He already knows the answer, but it still hurts to hear it.

“I’m sorry.” When his arm is free from the other’s hold, Kei walks to the door. “I love you,” he says, looking right ahead, anywhere but at Yamaguchi.

“I know. Me too.” Tadashi wipes away a tear. He watches the other do the same. He’s almost glad he cannot see his face. He doesn’t like seeing him cry. Just before the door closes, he adds, “It’s okay.”

They both know it’s not.

 

* * *

 

Months pass by in a blur. There is snow on the ground and Christmas lights everywhere and Hitoka didn’t even realise it was winter. She almost forgets to buy presents for her family.

Winter used to affect her mood very badly, especially when the Holidays are over. For several days, she is around people she’s comfortable with, and there is good food and music and life. Then she’s back to her lonely self and everything is dull and cold.

But this year is different.

Now, she has someone to keep her warm at night. It brings a smile to her face as she nestles against the blankets. She pretends they’re the arms and body of someone who still doesn’t have a name, which is completely irrelevant in her opinion. She’s in love and it’s all that counts.

 

* * *

 

She sees long strands of black hair. If she pretends hard enough, she can feel their softness on her fingertips.

As terrifying as that colour can be, she finds it oddly comforting.

It’s not a black filled with loneliness and unknown.

It’s more like ebony. It’s smooth, rich, deep, and elegant. It reminds her of feathers. It’s a black that feels safe, shielding her from the world. It’s a black that holds the hope of light.

(But it also reminds her of moving shadows that seem to dance with more desperation than love these days.)

 

* * *

 

The snow melts and soon the ground is covered with cherry blossoms.

The city is now a beautiful pink, but not as pretty as the rosy cheeks that keep Hitoka awake at night.

When she tucks dark hair behind an ear, she gets a glimpse at those cute cheeks, blushed from the shyness of being exposed like that. Hitoka’s lover has turned out to be feminine and delicate.

She can’t wait for the day she’ll get to see her eyes. She hopes they’ll hold the same love that she has witnessed through her binoculars.

(She tries not to think about the red-rimmed eyes and wet freckles of a boy spending the night alone when the bed should have been shaking from something else than trembling shoulders.)

 

* * *

 

The days get longer and the pants shorter when, suddenly, it’s the month of July. Everything is bright and hot.

Hitoka is positively suffocating.

She thought home was safe. She thought harm was outside, even if her mother would always disagree and say harm was inside her own mind. Now she knows her mom was right, because when she closes her eyes, she doesn’t only see raven hair, flushed cheeks and a shy smile. She also sees framed blue eyes she has definitely seen before.

After a sleepless night of paranoia, she thinks about going outside to get some fresh air and change her mind, but her thoughts are spiraling out of control.

_We live on the same floor, what if she’s in the hallway and I scream when I see her? And there are so many people on the street. I’ll look like I just evaded a mental health institute and where would I go anyway —_

She ends up crying on the floor in the middle of her living room, trying to remember how to breathe and wondering if she’ll ever have enough strength to stand up and live ever again.

She is terrified.

(She thinks back to kisses that don’t say _I love you_ but _I’m sorry_ and a stubborn tall blond boy who only cries when the lights are off. She decides love hurts.)

 

* * *

 

It’s not that she refuses to leave the house; it’s just that she _can’t_. Her mother packs her bags for her, but eventually has to call an ambulance for help and Hitoka is grateful for the sedatives.

The leaves are falling off the trees when she leaves the hospital and comes home again.

 

* * *

 

Tadashi spends a lot of time looking out of his bedroom window. He reminds himself of an old lady spying on her neighbours. The comparison makes him laugh, if only a little. It almost makes him forget he’s doing it so he can escape what is happening inside, as if turning his back to his crumbling relationship would make everything better.

He knows it’s a very foolish thing to think, but what else can he do? There is no way to solve his problem after what he’s done. If he had stayed inside his happy bubble, everything would still be fine. But no, naive little Tadashi tried to step his foot outside and it _burst_. There is no going back.

He blames himself for this disaster, but he also blames love.

If he didn’t love Tsukki so much, he wouldn’t feel the need to shout it to the whole world. Not that he’s got anything to shout about now, though.

If Kei didn’t love him so much, he wouldn’t want to protect what they have at all costs and try to keep anything or anyone from coming between them. Well, except the wall that he built.

Sometimes, Tadashi thinks that if the two of them had never been more than friends, they would both be much happier right now.

Then he cries because he cannot imagine a life without the love they share.

 

* * *

 

The time Tadashi spends at the window makes him notice a lot of things about his neighbourhood. One of those is the young woman who comes home in a panic a little too often. He sees her every weekend at around two o’clock in the afternoon. She is short, blond and looks distressed. When he sees her come back to her apartment walking at a normal pace and with a faint smile on her face, it makes him smile too. But it doesn’t happen a lot.

Then one day, there is an ambulance and she’s gone.

At least, there was no blood.

He decides to ask Kiyoko about her. He knows his co-worker lives in the building across the street, the same as the blond girl. Maybe she knows what happened.

She doesn’t.

Tadashi almost forgets how Tsukki doesn’t always come home at night and how he sleeps on the living room couch a little too frequently. He almost forgets how many days it’s been since they last kissed.

Instead, he worries about the girl.

Kiyoko tells him what little she knows about her. Her name is Yachi Hitoka, but she is most referred to as _The Creepy Neighbour._ People have seen her at her window, looking at them with binoculars.

She doesn’t do it anymore, since she’s gone.

Tadashi thinks the title is now his.

 

* * *

 

Yachi Hitoka comes back home in October and is greeted by Kiyoko bringing her flowers and homemade food. She wants to help in any way she can, even if she still doesn’t know what happened.

She gets an idea of what the problem might be, when the door opens. She barely has time to say hello before Yachi screams and falls and cries and hyperventilates. She nearly faints.

Tadashi is glad he didn’t get to witness it.

What he gets to witness, though, is how Kiyoko tries and tries and doesn’t give up, no matter how long it takes.

Maybe Tadashi shouldn’t give up, either.

It makes him laugh when he sees Yachi has a new hobby. She spends hours doing origami, and more precisely, paper planes.

Maybe Kei would laugh if he managed to make him a paper dinosaur.

Maybe _I love you_ would be enough to make him smile.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Hitoka gets through the door of her apartment for the first time in months, she becomes a woman on a mission.

The time she spent at the hospital was for the better. She learned news ways to deal with anxiety and calm herself down. She got a new prescription, since the last one wasn’t right for her anymore. She even got a yoga DVD (clearly ignoring the part where yoga was supposed to get her to socialize in a calm environment).

But, most of all, she had time to think. A lot, actually, and all that thinking led her to the conclusion that she _has_ to do something. She has watched the two men at their best and at their worst in all her creepiness. It would be rude not to help them in return.

And she happens to know exactly how to do it.

Hitoka’s thoughts are interrupted by knocking at her front door. She goes to open it in all her newfound confidence (after a breathing exercise and a pep talk) and comes face to face with flowers, food, and rosy cheeks under raven hair.

She cannot control her body anymore.

 

* * *

 

It begins on the day she officially starts working on her plan. She goes out to buy origami paper and the woman is there when she gets home. She introduced herself as Shimizu Kiyoko on the day she brought the flowers. She is there again and she wants to talk and _be friends_. She won’t take no for an answer.

It’s a little easier this time.

 

* * *

 

Hitoka is still haunted by dark hair and shy smiles and hands and kisses and _love_.

Now, there is a voice, too. Everything is ebony and feathers but also velvet.

She’s overwhelmed, but she wants more, more _, more_.

 

* * *

 

Making paper planes is not as easy as it seems. There are a lot of different models. She has to find the right one, so she tries them all, with the help of tutorial videos.

She spends hours folding paper. She fails a lot, but she gets better.

The window is just there beside her, but she can’t look. She doesn’t dare. So she hopes. She hopes she won’t be too late.

It’s easier not to think about it when Kiyoko comes by. Hitoka doesn’t know how it happened, how her fantasy suddenly materialized in real life. But it’s not the same, not exactly. There are no hands and lips and hot breaths and love, but that’s alright. Instead, there is what could be called friendship. Kiyoko talks and Hitoka doesn’t always answer and it’s okay. Sometimes they go to the grocery store together and it never ends in shaking and tears and running.

She even helps with the paper planes without asking questions, but somehow, it’s like she knows.

 

* * *

 

“I think you’re holding it too close to the tip when you throw it.”

Hitoka follows Kiyoko’s advice and changes the position of her hand. The two girls are at the park to try out their creations and determine which model works best. It’s a little hard to see, since it’s nighttime, but for Hitoka’s sake, it is the only option. “You’re right, it does fly farther that way, but it’s still the worst of them all.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” the dark-haired girl says, picking up a yellow paper plane from the ground and handing it to her companion. “This one is just what you need.”

“I know,” — she throws it and cannot deny this one is quite impressive — “but I held high hopes for the blue one. It’s the fanciest of the lot, after all.”

“That’s exactly why it doesn’t fly well. That plane is just meant to show off your origami skills. It’s got so many folds! I mean, there is a _reason_ real planes don’t look like that.”

“Hey!” Hitoka cries indignantly, picking up the poor thing from the ground and holding it to her chest. “Don’t mock it, it’s my favorite. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it right?”

Kiyoko laughs as she gathers the colourful planes that cover the ground and puts them back in the box. She does know, actually, since she was there. “Come on, let’s go back. It’s late.”

There is something is her friend’s eyes and smile than remind Hitoka of something. It reminds her of endless recitals of waltzes and tangos. It reminds her of fog and earthquakes.

It reminds her of a love so pure and true that nobody needs to know about it.

She hopes it’s not too late.

Kiyoko says it isn’t.

 

* * *

 

_Remember stars on a warm body_

_A beautiful night sky for only you to see_

_Always a new one to discover_

_Hidden_

_Unexpected_

_Hair that’s blond and bright_

_Like the sun_

_Like the moon_

_Like the way he lights up your life_

_The light is always on_

_When we love_

_Because love isn’t dark_

_The light is always on_

_When we dance_

_Because you are too beautiful to hide_

_Please don’t turn off the lights_

_Lips on lips_

_On cheeks_

_On foreheads_

_On hands_

_On backs_

_On tights_

_On wrists_

_On heartbeats_

_Make me laugh again_

_Even if my laugh_

_Is nowhere as beautiful_

_As yours_

_There are hundreds and thousands of words_

_And I know many of them_

_But when I see you_

_All I can remember is_

_I love you_

_Meet me at midnight_

_On the_ _rooftop_

_I’ll be waiting for you_

_\- Anonymous_

 

* * *

 

Hitoka is sitting in front of the window, binoculars in hand and a pile of paper planes at her side. She feels strange, doing this. Looking through those lenses used to be second nature. It was comforting, even. Now it feels foreign and wrong.

Like it should, she thinks.

Comfort is not stalking and daydreams anymore. Comfort is much different now. Much better.

She waits for a long time, sitting like this. It’s been so long, maybe things have changed. Maybe she’s too late.

But Kiyoko said she wasn’t and she believes her.

Finally, what she was waiting for happens. The man with the glasses — she never knew their names and never wanted to, even now — exits the apartment complex across the street. She quickly gets moving. She opens the window and puts her binoculars on the windowsill.

She is really lucky with her first throw. The man’s backpack is wide open and the complete lack of wind helps her get the paper plane directly inside of it for him to discover later. The second throw hits him square in the head ( _oops_ ), and the two remaining folded messages land at his feet.

She drops down on the floor, effectively hiding from view, when he looks up. She’ll never know if he picked up the one that was stepped on by a passer-by. She hopes it wasn’t the most important one. She should have checked.

She has to wait until later in the day to finish her plan. She works on a new website project and does some yoga to pass the time until the perfect opportunity presents itself. When she sees the open window opposite her own, she knows it’s now or never.

She did kind of expect a face to appear at the window after her last throw. What she didn’t expect was for the boy to look her straight in the eyes, like her _knew_ something. She freezes.

He smiles.

She slams the window shut.

Her raging breathing covers the sound of her binoculars hitting the pavement.

 

* * *

 

She cannot see much with her eyes only, but the scene is front of her is beautiful nonetheless, more so than anything she’s ever seen before.

She has seen heated red tangos and breathtaking pastel waltzes. She has seen skin and shadows and fog and earthquakes.

But this, _this_ is beyond compare.

On top of the building across the street, she can make out two figures wearing tuxedos, slow dancing under the starry night sky. The taller gets down on one knee. There are probably tears, but she can’t see. There is love, also, _that_ is something she can see. The moonlight reflects on the ring and she closes the blinds.

Somehow, the kiss is the most intimate thing she has ever witnessed.

“It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

She takes the hand that is offered to her, accepts the love that comes with it.

She used to dream of arms and lips and love.

Now, all she has to do is open her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
